


The 61st Annual Hunger Games

by olive_the_above



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 11:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11379102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olive_the_above/pseuds/olive_the_above
Summary: Libra is chosen to participate in the gladiatorial bloodbath of teenagers more than a decade before Katniss Everdeen.***I know I'm a little late for writing in this fandom, but I'm obsessed with these kind of fight to the death games, so this is more like loosely inspired by HG.





	1. Chapter 1

Words blew right over my head. Every sentence said to me in that room merely floated in space, devoid of meaning. It’s not like I needed to focus on what was being said. I’d heard it all, time and time again. All my teachers hated me, it wasn’t a secret. The know-it-all with a temper.

I could faintly make out my aunt speaking. “Libra are you even listening?” I gave a weak nod before she announced to my teacher she’d be walking me home now.

My mud-caked shoes sank into the earth on the path. All roads in District 7 were dirt. Nothing but tall pine trees surrounded my peripheral vision; my world is an endless mix of greens and deep browns. 

“Honestly? Hitting another student with a textbook?”

I aimlessly kicked an oddly large pebble back and forth off my uniform flats. “It bothers him how I don’t recite our Panem loyalties. He told me tomorrow is gonna be a ‘very special day,’ and how I would know that if I read my history. I told him he wouldn’t know our history if it hit him in the face.” I couldn’t suppress the laugh bubbling in my throat.

“It’s not funny, Libra. Tomorrow is a… a sp-special day.” Even my own family can’t fake enjoyment of the day of the reaping. The day two children will be ripped from their parents’ hands to their probable death.

My aunt and uncle’s cabin is the same as what most citizens of the lumber district reside in: two-story, self-built, only strong enough to keep out mild rain, sometimes not even enough for that. I walk past the one chair we have in the open living room where my uncle had fallen asleep on, again. His snores drown out my footsteps on the ladder that leads up to the loft bed I and my cousin Harriet shared. 

I don’t mind sharing a bed. Harriet is so small, and barely five, safe from the terrorous jaws of the Hunger Games reaping, for now. At the current moment, I’m the only house resident within the eligible ages of 12 to 18. My older brother, Orion, turned 19 last month, he’s escaped his yearly brush with death. I, soon to be 17, still have two more ceremonies to go. Last year my name was entered five times, this year it’ll be six, next year will be seven -if I make it to next year.

Our dinner is eaten in silence, save for Harriet’s non-stop questions about any and every topic. Her father gives low grunts as responses to all of them. Even though Uncle Hal is my mother’s little brother, he appears older than his years.

The sun sets and Orion leaves for his night shift in the main square, his second job keeps his little sister from having to enter her name into the deadly lottery more times than necessary. My aunt and uncle migrate to their bed on the upper level, the thin floors provide a very permeable boundary. I lay motionless in bed, awake, pushing Harriet’s blonde hair behind her ears to try and distract myself, it doesn’t work.

“What are we going to do about her? I can’t be walking her home everyday from school. This is ridiculous, I have a job and she needs to learn instead of losing her temper so quickly.” A woman’s voice echoes.

“I know, sweetie. I know. It’s just a phase, can you blame her? With the reaping tomorrow and being crammed in this cabin with all of us. And after what happened to her parents…” The house goes silent and cold again. “They were rebels too. She must get it from my sister.”

“Let’s just go to bed, Hal.”

: : : : : :

I wake before anyone else in the house. Before probably most people my age are doing today, taking advantage of school being cancelled to sleep in. I take advantage of the quiet. I need to take a bath in my yard without the sound of our closest neighbors chopping firewood, to soak in the water until the woodland breeze makes it too cold to bear. I watch my long hair float in the water. The bath makes the strands appear darker than they already are, except for the blonde ends, which almost reach my bellybutton. I almost want to cut it off, it reminds me of my mother, and uncle, and cousin, blondes. It’s painful enough that every piece of clothing I wear is a hand me down from when my mom was my age, if I had the stomach to remove the little amount of blonde that frame my face I wouldn’t look like her at all, my dark skin, brows, and eyes would all mimic my father.

The sunrise has given the horizon a deep orange glow by the time my aunt calls me inside for breakfast. Multicolored rays of sunlight beam down from between the pine trees onto my skin as I button up my jean skirt. I savour the beauty.

Harriet stays home with her dad, they will watch from our neighbors television, if at all. I start my way down the path to the main square, my aunt on my left, my brother on my right. It’s the first year I’ll be entered into the reaping without Orion, it makes my palms sweat but calms my anxiety at the same time.

I reach for my aunt, giving her a hug. I try to keep my face stiff as stone. Orion stops me just before I walk past the ropes separating spectators from participants. He takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze. It hurts more than I try to show, his hands calloused from years of work assembling wooden furniture for the rich in District 7.

I put myself in the middle of the crowd, around girls I don’t recognize. My objection is to get out of this without making eye contact with anyone, or speaking a single word.

The click of high heels vibrates off the tall stage in front of us. Our host, a man from the Capitol named Ganymede Clavel, takes the lone microphone from the stage, introducing himself. His annoyingly bright pink lipstick matches the floral pattern on his skirt to a T. It would make him more appealing if the hues were off by at least one shade. The wealthy in this country settle for nothing short of perfection.

I zone out, having heard the speech of how marvelous all the Capitol citizens believe the Hunger Games to be. Instead I focus on how empty the stage is, one man, and two bowls full of teenagers names. Even when the chosen tributes find their places at the top of the stairs, a majority of the platform won’t have a single muddy footprint on it.

“Ladies first,” his shrill voice echoes.

I look back to my brother in the front row behind the divider, he mouths I love you. I turn my head back as Ganymede rips the seal of a name with one quick motion.

“Libra Berg.”


	2. Chapter 2

The blood drains from my face to my ears, where it pounds against my skull. My arms float by my side, but I’ve never felt heavier. I spin and no one’s there to catch me. I feel a push on my waist. I’m not sure who it’s from. I take a step forward. Another step. Again. One more.

I don’t remember overcoming the stretch of steps to the stage by the time I’m standing next to our neon sign of a reaping host. My green blouse doesn’t stand out much against the dull emerald paint job of the board below my feet, I wish I could melt into them. I wouldn’t say I have stage fright, but I want to explode when hundreds of eyes bore into me during what feels like should be a private moment. It’s numbing.

“Now,” Ganymede begins again, “the gentlemen.” he spends no time lingering in the second bowl of names, quickly grabbing the first name his long nails brush against.

“Kale Pine.” A name I’ve heard but am not familiar with. I spot his face in the boys’ side of the crowd. He looks shocked, of course, but tries to brush it off and swiftly makes his way by my side. A tall but thin boy, taller than myself, as I’m almost six feet. His light brown hair curls at the ends, it’s been cut recently.

Our announcer puts a hand on both of our shoulders. I can’t stand another second in front of these cameras. “Happy 61st annual Hunger Games,” his voice scrapes at my insides, “and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

Kale and I turn to shake hands, they’re sweaty, but so are mine. May the odds be ever in my favor.

: : : : : :

The peacekeepers nearly throw me into a cramped room at our capitol building. The moments blur past each other and the torture is never going to end. I scream and cry and knock over the vase on the end table. I try not to think about how quickly I’d be forgotten by my district, by my family. My name will become hushed, a forbidden word until it’s never uttered again. Just like my parents. My hands have bits of broken glass in them. I sit on the couch and cry into them, mixing my blood and tears.

The door across from me slams open, my aunt. We look at each other for a second, I wipe my face with my sleeve. She snaps back into reality at the sight of my hands, rushing to my side.

“Lee, what have you done?” She tends to my wounds, never stopping to make eye contact. She doesn’t know what to say, neither do I.

‘I-I-I’ve,” my sniffling stunts my attempt to say goodbye. “I’ve saved some money, it’s in an envelope under Uncle Hal’s chair.” That makes her laugh, despite the tears she’s beginning to shed. She knows her husband never moves his chair.

I take her face after she’s wiped my hands, my aunt’s hair is graying in the front. She mirrors my movement, pulling my hair back, save for a few strands that frame my face. She pulls the elastic band from her wrist to tie a ponytail. 

“And that money will still be under that damn chair when you get back.”

The peacekeepers take her back outside.

Next comes my uncle and Harriet, they walk timidly through the door. “L-Libra?” My uncle questions as he sets down his daughter. I embrace both of them at once, kissing the top of Harriet’s head, strands of her pin straight hair still manage to stick up.

“Libra, you’re so strong. You can do it. You can win.” I know my eyes still must be puffy and red.

“How? There are 20 other kids out there just as strong as me, and stronger.”

“You stopped being a kid the day Thomas and Loreline died.” I look him straight in the eyes, the first time I’ve heard him say their names in years. “You have a strength in you that no one else has. Don’t let yourself get caught up in there. You make a plan, you stick to it.”

I can’t help but laugh. Harriet takes my hand, playing with my fingers. “That’s the most words you’ve spoken in a long time, Uncle Hal.” 

He chuckles too. “I suppose it is.” Time is called for their visit. I say goodbye, kissing them each goodbye followed by a long embrace. I am alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I love criticism of any kind, as an aspiring writer be as harsh and honest as you want. Also, this is a fanfiction that has only scanned through my eyes before being published, so I'm very sorry for inevitable typos.


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